


The Angels of Christmas Screw You

by bluefallenfandomwallflowers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Christmas Carol Fusion, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Bottom Castiel, Christmas, Doesn't really have to be read during the holidays though!, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Teen Romance, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8963923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluefallenfandomwallflowers/pseuds/bluefallenfandomwallflowers
Summary: It's Christmas Eve,  and Dean Winchester's biggest worry is whether his boyfriend's family is gonna deny him pie.But when tragedy strikes on the way to the big festivities, Dean's faced with his biggest problem yet-Is his perfect highschool relationship not so perfect after all?Well, leave it to a couple of angels, a few trips disregarding time and Dean's stomach, and the fate of God to help him through it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A nice Christmas AU that I wrote in less than 24 hours because, _holy shit look it's almost fucking Christmas_ and I was in the mood :D
> 
> And if it's not even close to Christmas time when you're reading this, that's perfectly fine! I'm not the best at putting a fuck-ton of Christmas cheer in my writing when the spirit has sort of gone away cause adulthood SUCKS ASS.
> 
> Enjoy!!!

 

It’s different than meeting Cas’ parents or going on their first date or making love or any of that shit that, at the time, was the epitome of absolute hell.

Now?

That’s about as difficult as changing out a tire; sure, it takes some extra work and some knowledge that’s been gathered over the years, but in the end you leave feeling good and as if you’ve accomplished something wonderful.

Cas’ religious, stick-up-their-asses parents were pieces of work, but hey, Dean had pushed through and charmed them (kind of) into giving him an extra slice of pie _and_ permission for Cas to join him at homecoming, despite the stupid tradition.

(Go gays! apparently was the message Cas wanted to send. Especially to his parents.)

But, performing on said boyfriend’s favorite holiday? Going to one of Cas’ family members’ house for dinner on Christmas Eve tonight and charming the whole family without letting off a huge gay vibe and freaking them all out? Opening presents Christmas morning with his own family and then proceeding to yet another relative’s warm and cozy home full of even _more_ patronizing family members to decorate cookies, possibly read scripture and watch kids run around and scream and get asked millions of questions?

And all of this without his own family to smooth the way and keep him from totally freaking out?

_Impossible._

Christmas had always been a family thing. _His_ family, just to clear things up.

They actually had some pretty strict traditions when it came to December 25th, and for the first time _ever_ , Dean would have not have his very own cherry pie to work over through Sam’s moronic request for them all to sing Christmas songs and tell each other what they’re thankful for like a couple of wimps. Through his dad’s awkward Santa stage of the day where he puts on an oversized hat complete with a big squishy ball of white fuzz hanging off the end and makes his mom laugh while he ho-ho-ho’s across the house.

It was stupid, and wonderful, and Dean would be missing most it.

He guesses it’s worth it for his amazing boyfriend.

Cas was honestly everything he was looking for in a relationship, in someone to love and to be loved by.

Blue eyes and a shock of messy hair on top of a sure, brave head and a skinny, but well-built frame hidden underneath loose sweaters contained a personality that was worth fighting for and thorough sarcasm that wasn’t worth losing.

Castiel Novak was smart and good looking and shy and even though he had tried to kill Dean with a rhubarb pie back in their sophomore year, he was sheer perfection in Dean Winchester’s eyes.

And everyone knew it.

There was no missing the act that proceeded football games and art competitions, the bright look in both of their eyes as Dean sweeps Cas up in his arms with a huge grin, either ecstatic over a big win or overwhelmingly proud of yet another majestic painting that serves as the money to fuel Cas’ shocking love for caffeine and literature.

Dean always gets a sweet treat out of it though, so, he doesn’t complain that perhaps Castiel should be saving all these winnings away for something….

Something.

The future is full of possibility, but they’ve never been great with communication, although Cas tries to push him to talk and spill all his little big thoughts on all sorts of subjects.

Talking about football strategies and where to eat on their next date is different than letting out fears and dreams and what Dean wants to do with his life, what _they_ are going to do.

Cas wants to go to college.

Dean… doesn’t.

But that’s not a bad thing and somehow his perfect little angel can’t seem to work through it in his head as anything other than a trip down loser lane and a life of utter impotence.

It’s a huge disagreement between them and it has been locked away in a safe that has been thrown into an ocean on a different planet.

Meaning, Dean won’t even give it the time of day to come up in a conversation or make light in the solitude of their limited paradise.

Yes, together they are great.

But what happens when they’re finally torn apart?

Christmas shouldn’t bring such anxiety to Dean’s heart, but yet, this is either a make or break, and he’s not optimistic about the latter.

“Stop worrying,” his mother soothes as she pats his chest, fixing the snug sweater Cas bought him when they went out last weekend to shop for friends and family and forced him to wear to this stupid event. Her fingers work on the crease fixated on the hem and eventually she demands he take it off to iron it out.

Dean’s sitting on the edge of his parent’s bed, the last of Christmas Eve’s light slipping through the curtains and warming the carpet, scratching at his elbow with a frown. “I can’t just stop worrying Mom. This is, like, a _test_. Of whether I can handle _life_!”

Mary rolls her eyes and rubs the iron across the crease until it’s perfect. Unsurprisingly, she huffs and decides to iron the rest of the damn thing just so it all looks the same. “You did just fine with Castiel’s parents, sweetheart. I’m sure this won’t be drastically different. It might even be easier with so many people!”

“Aw, Mom, that’s so sweet and optimistic of you, but I’m gonna stick with _I’m gonna die_.”

“Don’t get smart with me boy! Or I’ll let your brother eat all the pie.”

Dean snaps his mouth shut, but his mind is still racing like a douchebag with a sports car in a blizzard.

Aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents.

He doesn’t have any of those so this is a foreign concept that worries him greatly.

“You’ll feel much better when Castiel gets here, dear,” his mother says firmly.

She’s probably right.

On cue, the doorbell rings.

Mary finishes ironing the sweater quickly before handing it to him, warm and soft and not as scratchy as before.

“I’ll send him up,” she promises, kissing him on the forehead before retreating out the door and into the war zone.

In here, where it smells of her perfume and his dad’s leather, Dean feels safe.

He doesn’t often feel scared, but at this moment, he is.

And he doesn’t like it.

Dean tugs the sweater on carefully, pulling off a stray string hanging from his collar.

“Well, doesn’t _someone_ look handsome.”

The strain in his shoulders melts away at the sound of a deep voice, velvety and seductive to his ears.

He turns and stares at his gorgeous boyfriend, clad in a fucking _suit_ and leaning against the doorframe with a mysterious smirk.

“Holy shit,” Dean breathes out. “Cas…”

“Hmm?” Cas walks towards him slowly, tilting his head in a tantalizing manner that makes Dean’s teeth press together tightly and his stomach flip.

“I’m underdressed,” he whispers, in complete shame.

Shaking his head, Cas smiles. He presses his palm against Dean’s stomach, eyes gliding over his body and he smooths his hand up to adjust the collar underneath. Then his cool fingertips are gently caressing Dean’s chin.

A sigh is pulled from him as he nuzzles Cas’ hand, eyes closing involuntarily.

“You look striking,” Cas murmurs, forehead resting on his chest.

“Then why am I in this stupid sweater instead of a nice suit? Cas, I’ll be a _joke_.”

“Babe, no.” Cas pulls away and cups Dean’s face. He opens his eyes and gazes into the calming waves of his counter. “No, my mother is the one who forces me into this for the holidays. Most of my family is quite casual. It is just my parents who wish to conform to traditional ways.

“Besides,” Cas says lightly, softer than his confident accusations, tugging Dean’s sweater down and looking up at him with big doe eyes, shockingly blue, “I want them to see my boyfriend as a soft, innocent little lamb, rather than the rough quarterback who occasionally fucks me behind the bleachers.”

Dean blurts out an anxious laugh, cheeks warming up until he’s as red as a cherry pie’s filling. He adjusts his nicest pair of jeans and watches as Cas grins up at him adolescently, stepping closer and pulling him in for a soft kiss. His worries continue to slip away, but one is still sticking to his mind like a tumor.

What if Cas’ family doesn’t approve of him?

And, in the midst of disapproval, Cas realizes that he’s better off without him?

For the time being, Cas’ smile is going to keep him mildly sane, but he can’t get rid of this fear.

And he can’t help wondering if this will lead to their downfall.

 

*

 

Mary sends them off into the light snowy evening with hugs and a freshly baked casserole and a thoughtful glance towards Dean that gives him some support in the thought of breaking down and curling up into a ball and never straightening again.

The casserole sits hot on his lap while Cas drives, adorable but infuriating as he follows all the laws and stops completely and the speedometer neither dips above nor below the speed limit posted on the signs that Dean usually chooses to ignore.

When he mentioned driving them in _his_ beloved car a week ago, Cas had pressed his lips together and raised his eyebrows and given Dean a look that meant Dean should know what it means, but he doesn’t.

“Babe, you know I--”

“Dean, _you_ know how my parents feel about your driving.”

“What? Oh, you mean about how it’s awesome and when you’re as good of as a driver as I am you don’t need to follow the rules? Then I totally get it.”

“I will be driving.”

That’s when Dean knew this was going to be a total shit-storm.

“Can we at least turn on some tunes?” He asks, shuffling the casserole to the floorboards, making the sides of his fancy boots into impenetrable walls. His mom would kill him if he messed it up and he doesn’t doubt the spies that will most likely be lurking around to make sure the casserole gets exactly where it’s supposed to be.

Cas rolls the car to a stop in front of a red light and gestures to the radio. “Go ahead.”

“But you know the _rule, Cas_ ,” Dean whines, leaning to the side to nudge Cas’ shoulder with his head. “Driver picks the music--”

“--Shotgun shuts his cakehole,” Cas finishes, smirking.

It’s a sort of rule they have.

With his family, it’s more of a joke (except with Sam, the bastard who plays techno and weird shit only fourteen year old girls like, which, Sam is), but this goes back to when he first drove Cas in his prized car.

It was their first date, technically, and even after Cas’ parents had thrown a fit, they were told they would have to deal with it and Cas had slid into the passenger seat like he owned it and had fixed Dean with a glare that had him hot for the rest of the night.

“Drive,” he had grumbled, gripping Dean’s thigh after a minute of staring at the wheel in confusion, wondering what he did to deserve being treated like shit.

“Is something wrong?”

“Just my parents.”

“Hmm.” Dean wouldn’t know the meaning of that, because although his parents weren’t perfect, they accepted him and any decision he made. “So…”

“So?”

“So, they don’t want you dating me?”

“Guys in general. My homosexuality is an issue for them. So, yes you, but also just the fact that your gender happens to be male.”

“That sucks, I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

Dean had whipped his head over, fuming. _This guy is a total dick!_ he had thought.

“Because of you and your beautiful face, my parents took away my book money! Damn you.”

Looking over at the mystery sitting in his passenger seat, Dean squints. Cas had looked over at him mischievously, lip behind his front teeth, the corners of his mouth pulled up. “You’re such a dick,” Dean said, shaking his head and laughing to himself.

“Generally. And, _I_ should probably be the one apologizing. I don’t mean to be, I just…”

“It’s just you.” Dean smiled. “And that’s cool.”

It was comfortable silence for a moment and then Cas had to go messing with the goddamn radio.

“ _NO_ ,” Dean shrieked, slapping Cas’ hand away. “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole!”

“What the fuck,” Cas had laughed, holding his stomach and cracking up all over the right side of the Impala. “You can’t be serious!”

Dean had laughed a bit, but he was _fucking serious_. “I’m fucking serious.”

“Oh boy, okay. Okay. Alright.”

Dean can’t remember another time that he wondered what exactly was happening in his car.

Then Cas decided to ignore him completely and turn up the radio and change it to some alternative station that wasn’t total shit, but Dean wasn’t going to let him know it.

So, throughout their date, while in the Impala, Cas was fucking shit up and messing with Dean’s music and eventually he had to stop because there was no winning against this impassive, unmoving blue eyed giggle fest with his nimble fingers and infectious laugh.

But, the first time Dean was given a ride in Cas’ nice little rich kid car, he popped out Cas’ fancy CDs and rolled the volume knob as far to the right as it would go, some nice Metallica rolling across the leather seats and causing the skinny dork to cringe.

“You control it in my car, I control it in yours, sweetheart,” Dean had whispered in his ear.

Ever since then, he’s taken caution to never accidentally choose the music in Cas’ car for the purpose of being able to choose his own in the Impala.

It’s been a fun, childish, almost girly thing, but Dean still holds true to the rule that has developed since that fateful day at the end of their Junior year. Through the summer and these few, hellish Senior bullshit days, it’s been this silly, sacred thing that Dean has held onto for the sake of having something special.

It makes him feel sluggish inside, warm and gooey and like he could melt all over Cas and harden like a protective layer around him, because that’s how this makes him feel.

How Castiel makes him _feel_ inside, and feeling like he wants to protect and love and laugh and cry because of one person is sometimes exhausting, but it’s because he has never felt this way and it’s wonderful.

Something he can most definitely get used to for the rest of eternity.

“You choose,” Dean says, smiling and settling his head back on the chilly windowpane.

He watches Cas reach out and mess around with the fancy knobs and buttons, his blue eyes flicking up to check the light every few seconds.

It gets Dean thinking, as he examines the crease building on Cas’ forehead and the flick of his fingertips. Every decision is well-thought-out, pondered over as if his answer decides the fate of the world.

It’s hilarious and it also makes Dean’s heart beat faster.

Cas really is beautiful in his own way.

Yes, it’s clear that he’s incredibly good looking, but there’s something about him that makes Dean feel different, look further than the picture in front of him and rather the portrait being painted behind.

He’s challenged by this kid.

Loved and cared for and pushed gently and tested, so much that he needs and _wants_.

Cas ruffles his hair as he pushes the gas pedal, shooting forward smoothly, and he slides Dean a sweet smile as he turns up the radio and rock music pulses through the car.

“You’re too fucking nice to me sometimes,” Dean says quietly, jabbing his finger into the side of Cas’ thigh.

“You are correct. I’ve been thinking, I should start being a jerk just so you know the boundaries that I have decided to set forth. Like, no touching, for example.” Cas slaps his hand with a smirk.

“Mm, go ahead. Doesn’t change the fact that I’ve touched you in all the naughty places,” Dean says darkly, grinning as he unbuckles and moves until he’s practically on Cas’ seat.

He laughs gently before kissing Cas’ jaw, moving up to his ear and nibbling on that for a while. Cas’ strawberry scented shampoo wafts into his senses and he sighs, all that worry from before barely even anything now.

“Dean, babe, I love you, but you gotta buckle up,” Cas says, smiling as he pushes Dean away by his face.

Sitting back against the radio, Dean freezes, heart skipping a beat.

Their eyes meet and as Cas opens his mouth to say something, bright headlights are flooding through the back window and a horribly loud sound echoes through Dean’s ears and he’s being thrown back.

And everything goes dark.

 

*

 

Waking up on the floor of your bedroom in the morning is never a joyous moment, especially when the only thing running through your mind is, “What the fuck happened last night.”

Not even in the sense that you got drunk off your ass, just like, you went to bed and suddenly, with daylight shining through your window, you’re on the floor, wondering how you got there and if you fell, why you didn’t wake up and so many questions that will most likely go unanswered.

Well, it’s even worse when you’re on the floor, but your bed isn’t in sight, and neither is your goddamn bedroom and, oops, turns out you’re actually lying in the middle of the road on some nice, freezing snow and there’s a car racing towards you-

“ _HOLY SHIT_ ,” Dean screams, scrambling as fast as he can to the sidewalk as the car barreling towards him veers to the left, honking its horn and cursing.

Never has he felt so discombobulated _in his life_.

Seriously, though. What the fuck happened last night?

Dean scans around, scratching at his head and chewing on his lip roughly. Obviously, he’s outside, but this is an unfamiliar part of town to him.

It’s just rows and rows of houses lined up left and right with perfect yards and mailboxes.

He can’t remember any parts of Lawrence that are like that, and for a moment he’s panicking, because where the hell is he?

Then, “Hiya Chuckles!”

He jumps and lands on his ass again, his tailbone bruised to hell and he whips around to see some guy standing above him with a goofy grin on his face. He’s short and his hair is even longer than Sam’s, which is surprising, and he doesn’t seem to notice how fucking weird this whole thing is.

“Who the fuck are you? Where--where am I?”

The guy looks are him with a contemplative look, rubbing at a nonexistent beard along his rounded jaw. “Hmm, usually they aren’t so… I don’t know… Scared?”

“I’m not fucking _scared_ ,” Dean spits out, standing up and brushing off his jeans. He stops, staring at them and how they’re nicely ironed, along with this _sweater_ …

Then he remembers.

“Oh my god, oh my god, _Cas_ , holy shit,” Dean spills out, ignoring the guy in front of him and pulling at his hair, heart thumping. “I-- I have to go, I gotta--”

“Wait, buddy, hold up. Don’t worry about him.”

Dean twirls around again, eyes wide and practically bulging. The guy is holding up his hands, as if Dean’s a wild animal and he needs to be soothed, calmed down. “What the hell do you know!?”

“Geez! Okay, you better chill out Dean-o before I muzzle you.”

“ _Muzzle me_!? The fuck does that--”

Suddenly, there’s a muzzle over his mouth and he can’t speak and the guy is holding his leash, smirking. “ _That’s_ a muzzling, kiddo. Can you behave?”

What is his life.

Dean nods nonchalantly, despite all the crazy shit happening in this goddamn dream.

“This isn’t a dream.”

He growls and there’s lots he wants to say to this jackass, but the guy turns away from him and examines something in the crook of his elbow.

Dean balls his hands into fists.

“Okay! I get it. You’re just worked up cause you’re just a big ol’ worry wart!” The guy chortles and he looks like an overgrown baby in need of a muzzle himself. “Alright, time to explain. Hold your horses for a second…”

But he doesn’t, and he almost pisses himself when he’s wrenched off his feet and spinning wildly and then suddenly back on the ground and seated in a blue plastic chair.

“Oh _GOD_ ,” he moans, before throwing up.

“Ah, fuck. I mean, shit. I mean-- Sorry, Chuck is always telling me I should be more courteous, but I mean…”

Dean wants to cry, but this stupid guy won’t have the pleasure of watching Dean break down like a baby.

“Who the hell are you,” he demands, coughing.

The guy walks up to him and touches his shoulder lightly and abruptly, Dean is feeling… Damn right fantastic.

“You’re welcome for that, first all,” he says, grinning, maybe a bit kinder than before. “And second…”

He throws up his arms and for a moment, there’s just awkward silence in the dark room and the guy with his short arms in the air, smiling so bright it hurts looking at him.

Then his arms drop like weights and he sighs, cursing. “I fucking-- you’ve got to be-- SAMANDRIEL, WILL PLEASE FUCKING DO YOUR JOB FOR ONCE?!”

There’s a squeak of “Sorry!” from somewhere behind Dean and then suddenly, the guy throws up his arms again and a huge blast of confetti rains from the ceiling and behind him comes a huge sign that says, in bright neon lights and generic movie theater lettering,

**GABRIEL!**

“I’m Gabriel! Angel of the Lord! And, uh, well for the time being while the other guy is out sick- tragic, he caught the _flu_ , can you fucking believe it, that goddamn liar- I am the angel of Christmas past!”

Dean immediately bursts out laughing.

“ _What the fuck!?_ Ha! This is a prank isn’t it? Benny put you up to this didn’t he? Or maybe Ash? Or, oh, goddammit, I bet it was the soccer team, those bastards…”

“This isn’t a prank,” Gabriel, if that’s even his real name, says, eyes flashing dangerously, and Dean shuts up. “I’m here to teach you a lesson.”

“Wait what? Okay, wait, if this is real… What have I done wrong?”

Gabriel opens his mouth and then closes it, swallowing.

“Okay, well, maybe not a _lesson_ exactly. I just-- I’m here-- okay look. This isn’t some Christmas Carol bullshit--”

“Really, cause it looks like it is,” Dean grumbles.

“Mkay, I’m gonna put the muzzle back on if you don’t shut up for once. We’re short on time!” Gabriel flicks up his wrist and everything around them lights up and it appears they’re in a theater. “Look, like I said, we’re not running a Christmas Carol shindig here. We’re _angels_ , which means were pretty much full of grace and we’re here to help you!”

He waits with wide eyes, and Dean reluctantly gives a weak, “Yay.”

“So… Hear you’re having some trouble telling Castiel Novak exactly what you wanna do with your life, huh?”

Dean narrows his eyes and shifts uncomfortably, the plastic chair not helping. “What do you… mean?”

“I mean that we’re here: past, present and future, to help you know how you should proceed in sharing important news with the love of your life!”

“Love of my-- How do you know he’s the love of my life? How do you know he’s not just a highschool relationship bound to end?”

As the words leave his mouth, Dean immediately regrets them. None of it is true and he knows it.

Gabriel clearly knows it too cause he gives him a sympathetic look.

“I’m not going to give you any spoilers, because that’s not my job.” Gabriel walks forward and swings another plastic blue chair around, sitting in it backwards. He looks at Dean with more seriousness than he has this whole time. “What I’m here to tell you is that if you don’t do this right, if you don’t communicate and tell Castiel exactly how you feel, your relationship will end.”

He lets it sink in, and Dean feels that sense of panic again.

He can’t lose Cas, the best thing that has and ever will happen to him.

“I thought highschool relationships were just… that.”

“Then why are you with him, Dean? If you truly believe that.”

“Yeah.”

He rubs at his forehead and squeezes his eyes together.

“I can’t lose him.”

Gabriel smiles at him, and it seems he has passed the first test.

“Good. Realizing that is important.”

“But, hey, before we start this… Why me? Why us? We’re just a couple of highschool kids from some small town in the middle of Kansas. Nothing important.”

“The man upstairs doesn’t think the same,” Gabriel says, grinning. “You’re different, both of you. Even _I_ don’t know the logistics of it. But I can see it too. It’s like… I don’t know exactly, but it reminds me of this one alternate universe I visited once--”

“Gabriel!” The same high-pitched voice from before calls from behind Dean. “You are really running the clock man!”

“Oh shit, Sam is right,” Gabriel says, looking at his wrist even though there’s nothing there. “Okay, we gotta scurry Dean-o!”

He stands and powerwalks away and Dean knocks over the plastic chair trying to catch up.

“Here we go. Keep your seatbelts fastened, keep your limbs in the train, and try to keep your stomach grounded!” Gabriel taps the air and the lights flicker into nothing and Dean hears him utter a few words to the dark.

“Welcome… to the past!”

 

*

 

Dean attempts not to cry out as a bunch of tiny people ram into his legs, almost knocking him down.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m seriously an idiot,” Gabriel says from a few feet away, also in the same situation as a really fat kid comes around and rams a dinosaur into Gabriel’s crotch.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” he whines, falling down into the crowd.

Dean works his way to the edge of the school hallway they’re standing in, breathing hard as he leans against a wall of lockers. “Gabriel?”

“Here, here,” a thin voice calls, and he watches Gabriel crawl towards him.

He snorts and receives a glare. “Shut up, asshole.”

“Hey, hey, there are _children_ around, _angel_ , keep that potty mouth in check,” Dean says, already on a roll.

Gabriel opens his mouth to say something as he stands, but he pauses, staring into the crowd. “Okay, we’re in the right place.”

He points, but Dean can’t catch where he’s supposed to be looking.

“Eh, it’ll be easier once we’re in the classroom,” Gabriel says, patting his back. “And don’t worry, we’re invisible of course.” He heads off and Dean follows, a bit in the dark about everything.

How is taking him to the past supposed to help? Or the present? The future, maybe, but seeing everything he is scared of isn’t going to give him hope.

But, this idiot angel doesn’t seem _too_ stupid…

At least he understands sarcasm. 

It’s Dean’s second language.

They follow a bunch of second graders into a school themed classroom, the suckiest theme Dean has ever experienced, and plop down on the right side of a group of desks on some comfy bean bags.

Gabriel swishes his ass on it, the result being an embarrassing noise and Dean glares at him, still aware of all the kids around in matching uniform colors and the haughty looking teacher in the front with yellow hair and thin spectacles.

“Okay class, it’s show and tell time!” She says with false pep in her voice. “Who wants to go first?”

One little girl shoots her hand up, lifting her chin with an expression more serious than a priest on Sunday morning.

“Okay Megan, you can begin.”

The girl walks to the front of the class without a misstep and holds out a binder that, although written with a magenta marker, reads with surprising clarity, **My Future**.

“This is my Future binder,” the girl says, grinning in a way that says she’s better than all of them. “In here, I have planned out my whole life. Of course, my parents helped me, but I did most of it on my own.”

In Dean’s 2nd grade class at Lawrence Elementary, this girl would have been pulverized on the playground for being so dorky, for acting like such a hotshot. Lawrence wasn’t a horrible town or full of mean kids, that’s just not the type of environment they have.

And maybe he’s wrong and Lawrence is weird and other schools are different, but as he looks around and sees the rest of these kids listening intently without so much as a smile, as if this is totally normal, _expected_ even, Dean thinks this has gotta be some elite, private school whose only goal is to get kids into colleges, and good ones at that.

“I know what you must be thinking,” Gabriel whispers, even though he doesn’t have to. “Weird huh? Well, this is Illinois’ top school, one of the best in the country. These kids are fucking _bred_ to be the best. Which is one of the reasons we’re here.”

Gabriel nods his head towards the kids as if they will prove his point.

While Dean’s elementary classes would have been _normal human beings_ and shared their favorite toy or game, these kids share cut and dry dreams about growing up to become lawyers and doctors and all the professions that show great intelligence and a life worth something, in their eyes.

One scrawny kid professes his dream to become president, and for a second Dean thinks this kid might just be dreaming big because he can, but no.

No, he has a fucking plan drawn up that doesn’t seem childish whatsoever, and rather…

Good.

And foolproof.

Dean might not know much about politics, but he swears that this kid knows what the fuck he’s doing.

After all the hyper, show-off kids have gone, the teacher stands and goes to prey upon the shy kids who don’t wanna raise their hands.

She scans the rows and rests upon one of the poor victims’ heads.

“Castiel Novak. Why don’t you share your ambitions with the class?”

Dean’s head shoots up and his ears practically shift to listen.

Gabriel laughs quietly next to him, but Dean could care less.

A skinny boy stands from his desk slowly, a mop of dark hair hanging in front of his eyes and curling behind his ears. He has shorts on like most of the boys in the classroom, but his sweater is adorably two sizes too big for him and crooked on his shoulder and Dean is literally melting on the spot.

His boyfriend is fucking adorable, a decade younger than he is in the present time and still the most beautiful thing ever.

Dean wonders if that’s totally a pedophile thing to think, but he decides it’s different because of the obvious situation at hand.

He still has to hide a smile in his sleeve as he stares up at the boy standing shyly at the front of the classroom, hands behind his back.

“What do you have to share with the class, Castiel?” The teacher asks in monotone, obviously not as impressed as Dean is, and he hates her.

Castiel looks over at her with big ocean eyes, and then back at the class, more timid than he usually is at the age of eighteen.

Now, in real time, during class presentations, he’s on beat, firm, serious, with just a slight lilt in his voice to keep the rest of the class awake and attentative. He can be funny, but Cas gets the point across clearly and is never offered anything less than a perfect score of 100, unless the teacher’s a dick and gives him a 98.

But, this Castiel is scared, and it’s out there for all of them to see.

Some of the kids snicker and Dean wishes they could see him offer an accusatory glare and perhaps a certain finger of his…

“I-- I wanted to sh-show you all…” Castiel swallows, his tiny voice bouncing off the walls as they all wait. “My p-p-pet bee.”

After his stuttering, which Dean can’t help think is adorable, Castiel reveals the secret behind his back.

A little bee, skittering across the inside of a glass jar.

And then, all the kids are laughing, pointing, being mean and bullying poor Castiel who looks absolutely crestfallen.

Dean’s heart breaks and the urge to cry grips his heart, eyes watering.

“Okay, class, settle down.” The teacher stands and plucks the jar from Cas’ hand, slamming it down on her desk so roughly it almost cracks. The boy gasps. “Castiel, go to Principle Adler’s office _immediately_.”

“What the hell!?” Dean cries, jumping up.

“Horrible, I know,” Gabriel says from behind him. “But there’s nothing to be done.”

Dean frowns and picks at his sweater, nerves jumping underneath his skin, scratchy and restless.

“Come on,” Gabriel says, heading off to where Castiel is walking out the door, head down.

They follow, Castiel’s footsteps echoing on the tiled floor. His little fist pulls across his face and Dean walks ahead of him to examine.

Beautiful, but sadder than anything he’s ever seen.

Pale cheeks red and eyes crystal blue from tears, Castiel sniffs.

“Kids suck,” Dean says quietly, looking at Gabriel.

Gabriel nods with hands stuffed in his pockets. He looks pretty down too, as if this was affective to _his_ own emotional stability.

Dean sits right next to Castiel on the wooden bench in front of the principal’s office, wishing he could grip the younger boy’s hand and tell him that everything will be okay.

That someday they’ll meet and Castiel will have overcome so much that Dean doesn’t even know yet, but plans to learn, and Dean will take care of him.

Protect him from anything, and love him more than any of these jokers ever did.

A heavyset woman with pretty brown curls sticks her head out of the door. “Castiel Novak? Principal Adler will see you now.”

As Castiel stands, Dean goes to follow but Gabriel stops him, and the door shuts before he can slip alongside the poor boy.

“Why?”

“Because you don’t need to see that part. It’s nothing exciting and time cannot be too easily bent.” Gabriel breathes in deeply, looking through the window in the door. Dean joins him and sees little Castiel being led into another room by a big bald guy with a smile so fake it could be cheap makeup from the dollar store that’d been left out to dry the night before.

“Why do all these people suck ass?”

“That’s just the type of environment Castiel was raised up in. If you didn’t fit into the mold you were meant to, you were tossed away. Or, rather, in Castiel’s case, reformed.”

“But, he’s not just another corporate dick. He’s different than all those jokers.”

“And yet, he disapproves of your choice to not attend college.” Gabriel shrugs at him. “Despite how awesome Castiel is, you have to realize just how strict his parents are. Just how much his family depends on him becoming exactly what they want him to be. How _he_ believes he must become just like the rest of them if he wants to make anything of himself.”

“So, I might not be the only one putting this relationship on the ropes someday,” Dean says sadly, sinking down onto the bench again.

Gabriel sits with him. “I hate to agree, but yeah. That’s pretty much it.”

“We haven’t even gotten to the present time and I’m starting to suspect what this whole sucky theme might be.”

“Well, don’t spoil it for the other kids now,” Gabriel jokes. “We still got some more to see here before my comrade comes to take your sorry ass from my hands.”

Dean groans.

Spinning his finger in the air, Dean feels the slightest of lurches, and suddenly, the door is opening and out comes Castiel with someone who looks like Present Cas, just a little taller and with a mustache.

They follow and Dean tries to figure out who it is, because it can’t be his dad, Inias, who looks like more of the generic, strict dad types you see in crappy sitcoms.

“Castiel, what were you thinking?” the man asks, looking truly disturbed as if Castiel had pulled out a grenade launcher during show and tell rather than a measly bee.

“I was thinking that I w-would like to show Arnold to my class,” Castiel stutters.

“You named that pitiful insect? Well, nevermind. Despite the point that you would have killed that poor thing, there are more important matters to discuss.”

“I wasn’t going to kill it! I bor-rrowed all the books about insects in the school library in order to take care of it! I-I know that mother was all-l-l-llergic to the cat, so I thought this would be a safe pet to k-keep-”

“Stop talking, Castiel. Your stutter has become worse than before. We must get you a new speech therapist.”

“Michael-”

“I am trying to help you, Castiel. As your brother, I hold responsibility for you while mother and father are away, and I’ve decided to take charge in some of your affairs. Most regarding to the matter of speech and education.”

“Do… Am I going to a n-new school?”

“No. But I am requiring you to do more work at home. Take more classes. To further your ability to succeed at everything you do.” Michael pauses and turns, sinking to one knee so he’s at eyelevel with Castiel, who looks more discouraged than ever.

“I do love you Castiel. But there are things that I wish our parents had done differently and I wish to bring it to their attention. I want the best for you. But bringing a _pet_ to show and tell rather than your studies and plans for the future is not wise and you must learn that.”

Dean’s heart clenches roughly and he wants to punch Michael in the face. No matter if this guy is Cas’ brother or not.

“Okay,” Castiel whispers.

He stands up straighter and swallows and it’s almost like the emotion vanishes from his face.

Michael nods with a slight smile, and he continues on, leading Castiel ahead of him.

“That’s shitty. That’s- that’s not what family is supposed to do. They’re not supposed to fucking make you into something you aren’t.” Dean fumes and Gabriel attempts to burn out the fuse that is ready to blow inside of him.

“That was a long time ago,” he says, hand firm on his shoulder. “But that was when Castiel changed. When he was forced to. And that’s an important step to understanding how to tell and show him just what college means to you. What _he_ means to you. Because on his own, Castiel may try to drag things out of you, but the plagues that have been growing inside of _himself_ are far harder to pry away from the dark.”

Dean peers at Gabriel suspiciously. “You’re not as stupid as you come off as.”

“Ha! You’re charming.” Gabriel hits him on the back of his head and suddenly, with yet another heavy and suffocating lurch, they’re back in the theater. “Well, that was the past. I would show you yours, just to stick with tradition, but by now I think you’re able to compare things.”

Nodding, Dean lifts his plastic blue chair off the ground and settles into it, sighing. “Alright, well, I’m guessing this is goodbye between us?”

Gabriel taps his chin, surveying him with something unreadable in his silly face. “I don’t know, kiddo. I have a feeling this isn’t our last encounter. But, maybe I’m reading into another story in another universe.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Hmmm… me neither.”

“Well, bye then.”

“See ya, Dean-o. Hope everything turns out alright. I totally ship it.”

“Uh, thanks?”

Gabriel winks before vanishing and the theater goes quiet.

It would be scary sitting there in the dark by himself waiting for someone unknown in another situation, but after everything he’s seen and the awkward squeak of “Sorry!” from that Samandriel guy who is clicking away behind him, he’s almost calm.

Life is weird like that, Dean has found.

Like, the first time Cas met his family.

Normally in that sort of situation, he’s so worked up he can’t even stuff his face with his mom’s homemade fudge or joke around with his dad around a bent up piece of work in the garage. When it’s that prevalent to life, Dean’s sarcasm flies out the window and everything is a threat, especially smelly little brothers and random socks thrown over the railing.

With Cassie Robinson, he was like thirteen and a scrawny pubescent boy who was worried about whether his stupid little brother was going to say embarrassing shit and if his mom was going to be overbearing with questions and if his dad was going to accidentally shoot their guest while trying to show off.

Then, with Lisa, she ended up being a total bitch, but that was after he had her over and all she wanted to do was participate in touchy things under the dinner table (which Dean was not into at all) and talk about the latest gossip in their sophomore class.

Definitely not good dinner conversation.

It wasn’t anything serious, but anyone who can make his mom slam a meatloaf that hard against a countertop and cuss like a sailor because of her dislike of them is either not to be trusted or already a part of the family.

It was definitely the former and it was clear that Lisa would not be joining the big happy family.

And then… Castiel.

It was worry-free for him, even though Cas had been freaking out for like two weeks prior and asking him so many questions Dean was sure that nothing was left in the dark about his family members.

The only terrifying moment was when his Dad- _goddammit John_ \- asked Castiel, right in front of Sam in the middle of dinner outside on the patio, “What are your intentions with my son?”

Who the hell asks their son’s _boyfriend_ that friggin question!?

John Winchester, that’s who.

And Dean almost shit a brick from twitching so hard, but with the agility of a cheetah and the performance of the most sincere and professional speaker in the world, Castiel smiled softly while catching the salt shaker Dean knocked off the table and said, “To make him the happiest man in the world,” with his stupidly beautiful voice crisp and clear and deep.

It wasn’t some huge profession of love in the late of summer with the soft blossoms blowing across their sidewalk and the gentle setting sun quaking over the old swing set in the corner of the backyard, but that was the moment Dean wondered if he loved Castiel Novak.

Turns out he did, but at the time, it had only been a few months and sex was still new with each other and the worry that it was just a fleeting thing was still a big question in his mind.

At this point, there’s no doubt in his mind about loving Cas, but there is about their future, their fate.

That’s why he’s still here after all.

“Why hello!”

Dean is snapped out of his thoughts by a happy voice. It’s a somewhat good looking guy with a very low V-neck and a smile that reminds him of Gabriel’s. Do all angels have such goofy, sadistic grins?

“Uh, hey.”

“Well, let’s get right into it then,” the guy says, his voice distinctly British now, and Dean groans.

The only other British people he knows are total dickheads who are in cohorts, somehow thinking they are soo much better because they’re from the land of tea.

Fergus Crowley and Bela Talbot.

Ugh.

Kill him now.

“Samandrieeel,” the guy sings, raising one hand elegantly, a wine glass suddenly appearing in it. “I’m waiting.”

“Sorry!” The guy squeaks, clacking away.

Another sign like Gabriel’s lights up behind the angel, simpler than the former, but in such fancy script Dean can’t exactly read it.

“So you’re… Barfier? Or does that say Backbend?”

The angel gives him a rude look, sighing dramatically. “You simplistic little-- it OBVIOUSLY says Balthazar!”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Mm, sure you are.” The guy claps his hands together, the glass gone again, and he smiles once more. “Let’s get started quickly! Gabriel wasted a hellish amount of time.”

_Lurch, lurch_.

And he’s standing in the middle of Cas’ living room, already feeling the cold draft of disapproval begin to eat him up.

He’s only been over twice, once when Cas’ parents weren’t home and they engaged in some activities that both of their parents would have been horrified by, and then when he _met_ the actual people who make Cas’ life a living hell and they sat at the same table they, um, _squeezed lemonade on_ , and smoothed out just a corner of the blanket of trust in order to let Dean take Cas to homecoming. It was a huge thing on Cas’ bucket list of the impossible, but this one was sort of hopeful and after his parent’s slight approval, Cas had been so happy and Dean had been too, and he was already planning out the next speech for Prom.

But both of those times, even with Cas, it had been clear that he wasn’t exactly welcome in the place.

It just exudes deprecating arrogance, Cas had explained beforehand, and there was no way around it.

You just had to walk straight through and remember how to fight your way back out.

“So, what is this?”

“ _This_ is what happened before dear Castiel came to pick you up on Christmas Eve,” Balthazar explains, already at home on the expensive sofa placed intricately in the center of the huge room.

He seems like the type of guy Cas’ parents would love, and that only makes Dean dislike the snobbish bastard even further.

Dean’s attention is turned to the commotion venturing from the Novak’s kitchen into the living room.

It’s Cas, looking totally pissed off but hot as hell (Dean can’t help it), followed by his overbearing mother, Naomi, with her extremely tight bun and fancy red dress covering almost every inch of sagging skin.

They’re clearly arguing, or fighting, but in Dean’s house they don’t really discern between the two words.

But, as Cas has explained before, his parents have a big issue between the words.

It’s confusing and stupid, but it’s just another thing they have a problem with.

“Castiel, you’re being ridiculous,” his mother says, throwing her hands up in the air as if his ridiculousness is contaminating the air and melting all the expensive vases placed throughout the room.

“Wanting to spend time with my boyfriend on both Christmas _and_ Christmas Eve is not ridiculous, Mother,” Cas says steadily, because although his face may give away his anger, his voice always has this sort of level thing going on that can either bug the hell out of Dean during an argument or make him want to cream his pants.

Naomi flinches at the word boyfriend, but she seems to keep her cool going when Cas plops down on the couch right next to Balthazar, not seeing him of course. But it sort of pisses Dean off, because Balthazar is clearly _not_ complaining as his eyes roam over Cas.

“Stop that,” Dean hisses, crossing his arms.

“Sorry, sorry, I just wasn’t shown any pictures… _Goodness_ ,” Balthazar says, billowing out his V-neck.

Swallowing down the fight wanting to jump out of his throat, Dean stares over at the other argument already at full power. As Cas pulls on his shoes, he sighs. “We’ve had these conversations over and over, Mother. I am in a relationship with Dean Winchester and that will not be changing as long as I have a say.”

“Oh, Castiel! You really think that boy will be staying around for long? All teenage boys think the same way; they are promiscuous and incapable of true love.”

“So you’re saying my feelings for Dean aren’t valid.”

“I- yes, that is what I’m saying.” Naomi seats herself across from her son, huffing. “You may think it is forever now, but one day your feelings will change. Or his will. Besides, you’ll be growing out of this _phase_ soon enough-”

Electric blue eyes glare dangerously over at the woman, warning her not to cross into dangerous territory. “Don’t you dare say that to me, Mother. I know who I am, even if you can’t accept it. The fact is, Dean will be joining us at the Milton’s this evening and then at Grandma’s tomorrow. I will not be introducing him as a friend, but as my boyfriend. And although we have not discussed… _the_ future, I do not plan to let go of Dean Winchester. No matter what you say.”

Dean’s proud of him for standing up to his mom, but Cas had made a tiny mistake in his bold speech, and Naomi whittles her way through the crack.

“The future? Why wouldn’t you refer to it as _our_ future if you plan to be with this boy forever?” Naomi gives a light smirk before waving her hand, like it’s no big deal now. “Think whatever you may, dear. It won’t matter for long.”

Cas pauses in his attempt to think through a sharp retort, confusion pulling over his mask of indifference. “What?”

Another evil smile. “We aren’t staying in Lawrence past the new year, Castiel. Didn’t your Father relay the news to you this morning?”

Dean’s heart stops short of the win he almost thought they had.

But there is a reason he is being shown this moment, and he somewhat understands the dire importance of it.

“No.”

“Casti-”

“Asinine. _This_ is absolutely the most ridiculous thing you have ever done.” Cas rises, fists balled up tightly and Dean thinks back to the younger version of his boyfriend. The powerless, skinny kid with a stutter and the too big sweater.

He’s so much more than that and he has a strong voice that won’t be pushed into a corner.

“Is it? Because I believe that this will give you a fresh start! You’ll be able to finish your education strong, without anything to hold you back! And then you and Dean can attend college _together_ , because, with graduation approaching it must have been a conversation correct?”

Naomi has a vice grip on Cas’ voice for the moment, and he stares at her in anger, in frustration.

“You haven’t, have you?” She asks quietly, voice deadly.

“We have not,” Cas answers.

“So… Will Dean be going to college... At all?”

For this, Cas can’t say and it’s all Dean’s fault.

Cas had tried so hard to get him to say something, anything at all about the subject, and Dean had refused and ignored and pushed away.

And now he knows why.

Why Cas had fought so hard for an answer, why at one point they were arguing so much his mother was worried and so was he, but one day Cas simply apologized and dropped it and Dean thought he was home free.

No, god, no, he’s such an idiot, and he should have known.

“I- I won’t go with you,” Cas says, shaking his head. He turns away from Naomi and stares hard at the wall, eyes narrowed in worry, something Dean rarely sees.

“You have no choice in the matter.”

“But _I do_ , Mother!” Castiel turns back, gripping his elbows. “I am eighteen years old. I can do whatever the hell I please.”

Naomi flinches again, and she huffs. “Don’t use that word around me, boy.”

Balthazar sips his drink noisily, staring up at Cas and then back at Naomi.

“Where will you go then?”

“I will buy an apartment.”

Naomi laughs. “With what money? We certainly won’t be giving you any! And your college fund has been deposited, along with all your savings into your own dorm room, child. There’s nowhere for you to go.”

Opening his mouth, Cas looks like he has another sharp answer, but he falters and closes it roughly.

With a sneer, Naomi says, “Oh, you think your precious Dean will take you in? Doubtful. It’s rude and impolite and you know this is true, Castiel. Even so, they would regret their answer and you would become the ultimate burden. Do you want to risk those people hating you? Becoming bored? Even I wouldn’t risk such a thing.”

Dean knows this isn’t true one bit.

If anything, this is something he could guarantee he and his family would back up all the way. Bore of Cas? Hate him? Please. That’s the stupidest thing Naomi has said this whole time.

But… Cas has a look on his face.

Like he thinks it’s true, like he _believes_ his uncaring, ruthless Mother. 

And Dean’s heart breaks again and again, because _no, no, Cas, goddammit you know it’s not true at all_ , but Cas nods.

“I know,” is all he says, and even Balthazar frowns and sets down his glass.

“Does the boy think so lowly of himself like this often?” Balthazar questions, zeroing in on Dean as if it’s his fault, which it probably is.

Some of it at least.

“Not around me,” he whispers, rubbing at his arm, picking things off of his sweater.

“I have to go pick up Dean,” Castiel says softly. He stands and buttons his suit jacket before brushing past Naomi and passing right by Dean and out the door with a soft thud.

Naomi shakes her head with a smirk. “He won’t be staying,” she says to herself.

It shakes him to the core.

How could his boyfriend believe any of the vitriol words coming from this lunatic’s mouth?

How could _he_ be so clueless to Castiel’s needs?

Dean grits his teeth and runs outside, not taking notice of how he simply passes through the front door, and he stops to watch as Cas settles into his car and grips the steering wheel, placing his forehead against it, white-knuckled.

It takes just a few minutes before Cas is lifting his head and wiping his eyes and starting the soundless ignition. He takes off smoothly and Dean is left on the Novak’s perfect sidewalk in front of their perfect house, watching his perfect boyfriend slip away.

How could he not simply take time to notice the red rimmed on the edge of Cas’ eyes, or the way he sniffed a little more than the dipping temperature may do to a healthy person, or even the way Cas hugged his mom tighter than usual and thanked her profusely for a simple casserole?

“Would you like to leave now, Dean?” Balthazar asks.

“Yeah.” Dean rubs at his eyes before straightening up, ready for the ride. “Take me to the future.”

 

*

 

Fortunately, Balthazar leaves without sticking around the theater for too long, and Dean is left in the dark again.

“Sorry!”

He waits and waits and he kinda wants to punch himself in the face.

“Troubled are we?”

He glances up into a sunken face, pale beyond any face he’s seen before, and dark eyes peer back at him, devoid of emotion.

The guy is tall, skinny, both old and young, and he’s wearing black. It’s plain to see that he is darker than the angels before him, and maybe not much of one at all.

“You could say that,” Dean says, hitting his heel on the ground and scraping it back.

“Understandable. They rarely are excitable when they get to me.” The guy’s voice brings out a curiosity in Dean, but he can’t seem to pinpoint exactly where he knows it from. He does sound quite like a storyteller or the wise man in fantasy movies who spout a bunch of logic on the protagonists before pretty much leaving forever.

“So, do you also have a sign that lights up with your name on it?”

“Ah, well, I’ve never been offered one before… But perhaps if I were to have one, it would be black.”

“Figures.”

The man chuckles, leaning on his silver cane.

“So, who are you?” Dean asks, raising his head.

“Some refer to me as ‘Help of God’ or ‘Angel of Darkness’, but to you humans I am commonly known as…”

“Death.”

Death nods, almost smiling.

“But, you’re not really an angel are you?”

His eyebrows waver. “Angel of Death?”

“Thought those were two different beings.”

“Do you consider the grim reaper and I as one?”

“I think so.”

“Funny… Hmm.”

“Wait, what?”

“Nothing, nothing. I am simply amused by you.” Death pulls out a pocket watch, examining it before flipping it shut and stuffing it back behind his lapel. “We should hurry off now. The future comes briskly.”

With a sad sigh, Dean stands and follows Death down, down, down, until suddenly he’s in complete darkness.

Then, just as quickly, light blinds him for a second before his eyes adjust and he finds himself at the edge of what appears to be one of the most elegant parties he’s ever witnessed.

Women in long dresses slide across the echoing floor, men chat about business in their finest suits, and children are nonexistent in the sweep of dance and groups in light conversation and the few straying near a table stocked with finger foods. Christmas trees stand tall and proud at the sides of a stage and Dean notices the cumbersome decorations hung around so thickly it would be impossible to not inhale Christmas itself.

But rich people don’t like to eat apparently, because nothing seems to be touched and this party is already in full swing, as much as it can be.

Death raises his eyebrows when Dean glances over at him before heading for the food, pace slow and undetermined. He’s much more normal than the other angels and Dean has a hard time believing this is his regular gig.

Perhaps one of the strangest sights he’ll ever see is that of Death plucking at the pizza, pulling olives off of multiple pieces and distributing them onto two slices before carefully, almost gracefully, wolfing them down.

“Help yourself,” Death says, patting at his mouth with fine linen. “They won’t notice.”

“I’m good.” Dean’s stomach is already in too many knots after his time with Balthazar in Cas’ house and he’s afraid of upchucking again if he takes one bite.

He scans the crowd, his eye finding the large cascading staircase at one end of the room, and his lips part when he catches sight of a familiar head of dark locks at the top of the stairs. Dean makes his way through the edge of the crowd to stand at the bottom step, staring up at this handsome man.

It’s the future alright, because Cas is no longer on the clearing of adulthood.

He has already entered it long ago and made it his own and he looks _good_.

A dark shadow, almost to be considered a beard, covers the lower half of his face and his features are sharper, more serious, older. No longer is he on the skinnier side of the spectrum, but instead trim and tall and…

A man.

Dean feels young and inadequate, nothing like the bold quarterback who was able to pick up the small blue-eyed teenage and push him up against the dock pole in the lake earlier that present summer, kissing him breathless and seeming to tower over him.

No, this man is not to be taken lightly.

He looks prominent, important, in his suit and as he checks his watch and gazes into the crowd of people in the large room, Dean almost swears Castiel’s eyes land on him for a few seconds, recognizing him, but then he’s looking away and Dean is… nothing.

“How old is he?” Dean asks, lips going dry as his tongue sweeps over them, sweat gathering at the back of his neck.

Death sidles up next to him, a glass of champagne in his right hand as he looks up at Castiel. “I believe he has just passed his thirtieth birthday.”

It’s hard to take down, almost inconceivable, because this isn’t someone he can simply defend with sarcasm and rummaging wit.

Dean’s a wimpish kid and before him is a man who seems to have all his shit together. Who is secure within himself, who _doesn’t need Dean Winchester._

As if to break him even further, Castiel turns and greets a man slightly taller than him, thin, golden. They share a chaste kiss and Dean’s stomach rolls.

“I-- I don’t think you need to show me this,” Dean whispers, grasping at his neck, the sweater all-consuming, strangling him, and looking up at Castiel strolling down the stairs with the guy’s hand on the small of his back is making him dizzy.

“And yet you have to Dean,” Death explains delicately. “You must look into the face of your fears, into the future you wish to change. But running away… Others have tried.” Death takes him by the elbow and leads him into a corner where a few empty chairs are lined up, pushing him down into one. It has the perfect view towards Castiel and his new partner and Dean lets out a dry sob. “It hasn’t ended well. Not the way they all wanted it to.”

“I—Shit. I can’t let this happen.”

He can feel Death boring his eyes into him, and he licks his lips, knowing he should just suck it up. Get over it. This is… the future.

“No, it does not have to be the future.”

“What’s with all you bastards intruding in on my thoughts, huh?” Dean exclaims, suddenly defensive. “It- it feels like you’re _trying_ to make this happen! You’re not helping me! You’re breaking me down, you’re--”

“Shut up, dear boy,” Death interrupts, waving his hand. “That isn’t--”

“ _Oh my god_ , you’re here to kill me aren’t you!? Holy shit, I should have realized.”

“What? Wait, no--”

“I’m dying. I’m dying, aren’t I!? And if I choose wrong, you’ll reap me.” He spins arounds with crazy eyes and his hair a rat’s nest and he gives Death a vacant stare. “I’m dying, right?”

“Yep. Totally.” Death coughs and sips at his champagne.

“Oh god…”

“Dean, survey the scene before you. I ask you to simply observe. Go ahead.”

Dean ambles along through the crowd, almost in a dream, because he really should have realized that this is _literally_ life or death.

In the depths of arrogance lies Castiel, looking extremely bored, and his new man, whose smile is too freaking bright, too big, too much. He’s definitely not Dean’s type, and how in the world can he be Cas’?

He’s voiced his opinion on rich snobs before and this guy takes the pie for the title.

As he observes, just like freaking Death told him to, it’s obvious that this guy isn’t in it to win. He keeps checking out the women’s asses in their frilly, floor length gowns and some look back at him with sneers, others with cheeks rosy and smiles flirtatious.

Dean doesn’t feel any sort of jealousy now. Just contempt, disgust and the urge to strangle this guy and sweep Castiel off his feet, take him away from this shit.

He’s gorgeous, but it’s clear he isn’t happy.

This isn’t the life he wanted, Dean knows that much. From words spoken in the roll down from escapades in bed and in the sleepless late hours of the night, Cas has spilled just as much and it aches deep inside of him.

“I don’t need to look at this anymore,” he says to Death who is lurking behind.

“So you understand?”

“I think so.”

“Although it isn’t all because of your departure, your relationships end does play a big part within this.” Death hold up two fingers in a come hither motion, waving him away.

In getting his last look, Dean gazes straight into blue eyes, and _again_ , it’s almost like Cas sees him.

But he breaks the contact and hurries away, feeling heavy and hurt.

 

*

 

Future Dean is a slob, to say the least.

His crappy apartment and its crappy furniture and its crappy air conditioning really put the emphasis on “crappy life”.

Death even seems a bit disgusted by the whole idea of living in this craphole, and Dean has to agree.

_This_ is his future?

“Shitty,” Dean comments, picking up a pizza box and sniffing and almost dying, because who knows how long that goddamn thing in there has had time to grow a nice, fuzzy, green coat?

“Shitty indeed,” Death agrees with a faint wobble on his lips. “I’m sure I don’t have to explain this.”

“Okay, okay, but my question is… Why do Cas and I have no life without each other? Not to, like, say I don’t want a life with him because I’m literally going to die if I don’t have him, but, without him am I really a nobody? Do I really have to live in this shithole? Do I accomplish nothing without him?”

Death gives him the most serious look of the night. “Yes.”

“Well… Okay.”

“This is a different case than any of the others, Dean, you must take notice of it. God Himself has made this a top priority.”

“I don’t…”

“You’re soulmates.”

_Soulmates_.

Dean’s literally living out one of those goddamn chickflicks Cas can’t get enough of.

“The first pair in many, many years,” Death adds, just to take another stab at his weak and aching heart.

“Well.”

Death chuckles before taking a seat on the cleanest looking piece of furniture in the room, and that’s not much.

Suddenly, the door to the crappy apartment squeaks open and Dean gulps at the sight of himself, older and gruffer and scruffier, with a full on beard and soft crow’s feet in the corners of his tired green eyes. He’s not much different, but his skin shows years of labor and the sparse gray hairs dancing at his hairline show how much stress a life like this, a life without Castiel, truly brings.

“At least I’m not sporting a goddamn beer gut,” Dean grumbles.

“ _Oh shit!_ ” Future Dean yells out, the bags in his arms spilling to the ground.

He frowns down at them before glaring at his former self, clearly not recognizing him, which is weird because he hasn’t grown up _that_ much.

“What the fuck are you doing in here, kid? This look like a homeless shelter for pretty boys?”

God, his voice sounds rough, like taking on Cas’ gravelly one will do the trick to never forget him.

“Uh…” Dean glances over at Death who doesn’t give him any clue as to why he’s not invisible.

“You do look familiar though…” Future Dean doesn’t seem too worried about the guy in his crappy apartment. Because clearly there is nothing worth stealing. He gathers up the groceries that have spilled across the dented linoleum and pushes past Dean towards the crappy kitchenette. “Did Mom send you over? You one of those orphans she keeps finding in the backyard?”

“What?” Dean has to cough in order not to burst out laughing. Sounds just like his mom, to feel bad for a couple of strays and then send them over to her son’s place to be taken care of like chickens who’ve abandoned the coop. “No, no, I, uh…”

Future Dean grumbles something to himself as he goes about sticking things in creaky cupboards, shoving off his boots and scratching at his beard. “Well, I’m kinda glad you’re here.”

“Wh-what? Why?”

“Sucks being alone for a nice, big Christmas dinner,” future Dean says, looking back at him with the saddest eyes that can be given without crying like a baby, which this guy clearly isn’t by the looks of him.

“Wait… Don’t you go to your parents’ for Christmas? Or, at least Sam’s?” Dean wonders out loud.

Future Dean doesn’t wonder how Dean knows about his brother, but his expression becomes even more pitiful, something a Winchester should never show. “Sam and I… We don’t get along anymore. And dad and I had a big fight a few holidays ago and I’d just rather skip the shitshow, you know?”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. So, make yourself at home. Lucky I’m too goddamn tired to ask questions…”

Dean takes a seat at the crappy kitchen table and sends a strange, confused look towards Death who doesn’t seem to give one shit about the situation he’s in at the moment.

Bastard. Might as well kill him now before this big guy does.

The crappy apartment fills with the sweet smell of tomato sauce and when Future Dean begins boiling the noodles, Dean decides it’s time.

“So, no girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

Future Dean’s shoulders tense, but they settle and weary eyes fix on him. “Not since highschool, kid.”

“Why?”

“Wanted… different things.”

“And you couldn’t work through it?”

“It was more complicated than that,” Future Dean argues, turning back to the noodles. “His family was complicated. My thoughts were complicated. And… _We_ were complicated, too complicated for both of us.”

“And why was that? All that goddamn complication?”

“You ask a shit ton of questions, man.” Future Dean lets out a laugh, and Dean can’t help smiling. It’s weird, looking at himself and feeling warm, safe.

Strange.

“It’s fucked up, but I don’t have enough money for a bird, so… Spaghetti okay?”

That’s the most miserable thing Dean has ever heard.

“Yeah, that’s… that’s good. Mom’s recipe?”

Future Dean looks at him curiously, streams of questions running behind the green, but he doesn’t bombard him, just like he said he wouldn’t. “Yeah.”

“Awesome.”

A chipped bowl is settled in front of him, full of steaming spaghetti that smells wonderful and Dean immediately drenches it in tomato sauce before digging in happily. Future Dean pulls out of his bulgy coat, clad in a soft looking shirt with long sleeves.

God, he really _does_ look like a big teddy bear in sweaters.

But, he also gives off the air of a fighter, a hunter.

Like _he_ could do some protecting.

Future Dean could definitely hold Future Castiel close and swing him around and kiss him breathless, and it makes Dean inhale shakily around a mouthful of great value brand noodles.

“So why?” He asks a few minutes into their quiet dinner. “Why was it so complicated that you couldn’t work through it?”

Future Dean looks off at the dusty window next to the fridge, his eyes darker than before. “I wasn’t willing to try, if I’m honest. For years I’ve been asking questions, trying to find answers. Why I haven’t gotten over him yet.”

His eyes move to his own bowl. “It’s… It’s because I didn’t explain to him what I wanted. How being successful wasn’t my goal in life. I love working on cars and that was something I wanted to pursue and he just couldn’t see past college. Fucking college, because that’s what had been programmed into his brain.

“I… Shit, I just wanted a family. That’s all, kid, that’s all I ever wanted. Because I didn’t want to spend my life in some shitty city hanging with a bunch of snobs who weren’t real friends. School was never my thing! But it was _his_ thing, and we weren’t able to get past that.”

Future Dean sniffs and rests his forehead against his fist. He looks inconsolable, as if nothing will ever fix this despair he’s found himself in. Which, maybe there is no way out of it. Maybe this is what his life will lead to if he doesn’t fight the way he has always told himself he would.

It is what it will lead to if he doesn’t just talk, tell Cas his dreams, his fears.

How he loves him more than anything and how…

“So did he not want a family?” Dean asks quietly.

“I guess that’s one of my regrets. I never questioned him about, he never asked me, and so we were left in this ditch where he wanted to go to school and he wanted me to come and I just couldn’t explain anything to him. I loved him so much and I couldn’t tell him because I was scared.”

“And he didn’t want to stand up to his family.”

Future Dean nods and shudders. “Fuck, I hate that I just let him go. I regret it so much.”

“So why don’t you go after him?”

“I don’t fit into his life, kid. Me? Up there where I would be laughed at?” Future Dean laughs humorlessly and stands, heading towards the fridge. He pulls out a beer and pops the cap, swallowing half of it with ease. “Besides, I checked him out once, when I was desperate. He’s… Married.”

The word makes Dean flinch.

He’s married to that fucking asshole?

“This isn’t the future I want,” he says, looking over at Death, who is standing in the shadows, his pale face the only thing showing in the dark. His fingers splay over the top of his cane before settling. “I can’t- no, this sucks. Cas’ life sucks. All of this _sucks_.”

“Massively.” Death nods, eyes squinty.

“I just… How do I explain to Cas that college isn’t what I want? How do we make this work if all he wants to do is go to college?” Dean grips at his temples and shakes his head.

There’s no way out of this.

“Dean, how do you know that college is exactly what Castiel Novak wants?”

Oh.

“No, that’s- that’s not like Cas. That’s just him. College bound. Sure his parents have been pushing it on him forever, but he’s said how he wants to go…”

Or has he?

Or was it with indignation and mournful eyes and limp arms?

Shit, he just doesn’t listen, doesn’t see, does he?

“I- I get it! Death, man, I think I understand. I have to get out of here!” Dean jumps up and he looks over at Future Dean with excitement, but it’s like the man has been alone the whole time.

He just sits and stares out the window and nurses his bottle, despondent and utterly heartbroken.

“I won’t become you,” Dean promises to the man, shaking his head, filled with rage at him and Cas and how they didn’t try, how he didn’t fight. “I will change this future. And I’m going to make my own.”

He heads towards the door, brushing past Death who has his eyebrows raised. The door squeaks and the linoleum creaks and the older version of himself just sits.

“I’m going to make my own future. And this time, it’s gonna be with Cas.”

Then he moves into the Christmas night, snow blowing past him and the cold settling around him, sharp and clear, but he doesn’t stop.

He just walks and walks, tripping over snow drifts and curbs buried underneath them and dim light shines through from the lightposts towering high above.

Dean can’t stop now.

Because he’s not some wimp like the man in that crappy apartment, because he isn’t just going to let the love of his life, his _soulmate_ for God’s literal sake, slip through his fingers.

He’s a fighter.

And he’s sure as hell gonna fight for Cas.

 

*

 

It had been after one of Cas’ art shows.

He had won of course, two hundred dollars from some rich lady with a poodle for a simple, gorgeous painting of a cozy looking parlor and snow drifting outside a window and a woman counting money at a Butler’s desk.

It was sort of unlike Cas’ usual drawings of tall figures with shadows stretched out behind them, wielding weapons and exuding an air of grace and power.

But it was just as well done, and the lady was enraptured.

Dean had sat in the back, holding the smile that threatened to pop up every time Cas happened to run a hand through his hair at bay, spiking it up in crazy, adorable ways, just the way Dean likes it.

Their eyes meet afterwards, and Cas holds himself still, trying to look _professional_ instead of beaming at him the way Dean is at him.

He’s in one of his big sweaters and tight fitting jeans and he has paint stains around the collar from wiping off his hands absentmindedly while working with his brushes in the Winchester’s unfinished basement, Frank Sinatra crooning deeply across the concrete floor. Dean could stare at Cas for hours and hours, sipping on lemonade, taking in Cas’ mannerisms and tucking them away into a special file that he’ll never forget.

It’s in these moments, at Cas’ art shows and in his quiet basement, that Dean sees and watches just how grown up he is, but also how happy he can truly be.

It’s not like the stress from school and his parents.

He’s a painter, and from what Dean has witnessed, _this_ is the real Cas.

“Hey, moneybags,” Dean says, grinning from ear to ear in greeting, the urge to ruffle Cas’ hair strong. “Got anything for me?”

“Hmm, will a kiss suffice?” Cas asks, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck with a smile.

“Mm, possibly…”

Dean kisses him softly, nerves spiking as Cas moves against him, warm and solid and real. “Wanna get out of here?”

“Does it include food?”

“As long as you’re paying, hotshot,” Dean says with a wink.

They grab food from some burger place on the way back to Lawrence and Dean plays soft tunes for Cas’ benefit, earning a sweet smile. But the nerves return, as he remembers that his parents are out of town and Sam’s at a friend’s place and he has the house to himself.

“You able to, uh, come to my house for a while?”

Cas peers at him suspiciously, biting off one end of a salty fry. “Are you planning to murder me?”

“What!? No!”

“That’s exactly what a murderer would say,” Cas grumbles, chewing slowly. “But okay.”

Dean chuckles nervously, because sometimes Cas’ dry humor scares him. While he is aloof and makes his sarcasm clear, Cas is always sort of in the shadows and Dean has to double check if the guy is serious sometimes.

But, it does leave some mystery so he guesses it’s worth it.

His skin tingles as he unlocks the front door, leading his boyfriend into his house, warm from the summer sun shining through the windows earlier that day. It’s so empty, and it’s only them, and his heart is pounding a tattoo inside his chest.

The front door shuts behind him, the hallway going dark without the porch light to shine the way through, and Cas’ hands are sliding around his waist, settling on his stomach. He breathes in shakily as Cas places his forehead between Dean’s shoulder blades, breathing with him, nosing his jacket.

“It’s okay,” Cas whispers, voice calm, collected, way more steady than Dean can even stand right now.

Cas isn’t just someone, some hook up.

“Don’t be afraid.”

“Sorry.”

“No. No, don’t be. If I knew how nervous this would make you, I would have laid out some rose petals, maybe lit a few candles, smoothed you out with some wine-”

“Oh, shut up,” Dean breathes out, laughing nervously. “I’m not some girl.”

“Hmm. I disagree.”

“Ha.” He turns slowly, until he can find Cas’ eyes in the dark, gazing back at him, no expectations in them and no disappointment in the hand running over his back. “I’ve never, uh, done it with a guy before. I mean, god, I guess some handjobs and stuff, but never—shit, I’m sorry.”

Cas laughs lightly, cupping his cheek. His palm is warm, dots of dry paint in the creases of his fingers, and he’s strangely familiar, a comfort. But also foreign, untouched.

His bed is also unknown in the midst of this, Cas leading him to the edge of it and sitting him down gently. He kisses his lips red until he’s grasping at Cas’ sweater, throat parched from the lack of him and foot bobbing up and down with anticipation.

Cas’ pale stomach, lean and tough, tastes like salty skin, cool to the touch. He’s open and fretful and almost begging, asking for this first time to be Dean leading the show, if that’s okay.

And Cas just nods with a heavy grin, kissing him back against the sheets, pulling their clothes off in an unhurried manner.

He doesn’t need alcohol to smooth the way, only this graceful being with pale skin and lips that could soothe any heartache and a voice so gentle and coaxing he could sob.

“Do you want to do this, Dean?”

“Duh.”

“I’m serious.” Cas kisses his knuckles, as if they’re not already down to their underwear, as if Dean’s not totally hard and panting. “You know this is different for both of us. New.”

“I want to, more than anything. With you.” Dean swallows, trying not to be too girlish, but he almost doesn’t care. The way Cas is looking at him makes him buck up, one thigh sliding between pale legs. “Please, Cas.” He shuts his eyes and breathes. “Yeah, wanna do this.”

Cas pulls the last of their clothes off and Dean’s fingers stumble against the bedside table, trying to find that damn bottle. Finally it catches and he hands it to Cas, who seems to know what the hell he’s doing.

It’s definitely new territory, a little scary, but his eyes bulge when Cas coats his fingers in the damn stuff and reaches behind himself, cock tightening against Dean’s thigh, thick and long and gorgeous.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Cas breathes, shutting his eyes and tilting his head to the side, eyes fluttering shut.

Dean swallows, has nothing to say, as he watches, watches as Cas’ arm moves and his other hand rests on Dean’s chest, fingers inching back and forth. He can’t stand it, and he slides his hand down Cas’ back, until their hands meet. Cas’ eyes are piercing, waiting, as Dean touches him and he gasps, chin dropping to his chest.

“I- I’m ready,” Cas says a moment later, hands shaking.

Dean throws his head back against the pillow as Cas grips his cock, palm moving over it a few times before suddenly he’s enveloped in tight heat, wet and welcoming and so, so good. “Oh god,” he pants, opening his eyes to watch as Cas slides down over him, chest heaving and hair wild, as wild as his eyes are at the moment.

He’s crazy, _they’re_ crazy, and Dean fucking loves it.

It takes a minute of adjustment for both of them, and Dean grips Cas’ hips, thumbs straying over sharp hipbones. Then Cas begins to move, rolling his body, and Dean grits his teeth, moans running off his tongue and filling the silence, skin against skin and beating hearts pounding in his ear.

Dean bends his leg slightly, able to thrust up, and Cas cries out.

As he gets the hang of it, Dean is grappling for Cas, hand in his hair, and pulling him down for a sloppy kiss, grunting as their tongues collide. The teen above him is gasping, body going rigid as Dean hits something inside of him, hot and loosened, all because of him.

“F--fuck, babe, just like th-that,” Cas moans, stuttering, face in the crook of Dean’s neck, and he takes the opportunity to fuck into Cas harder, faster, getting the hang of it.

It’s a minute or two, maybe more, but Dean’s head is lost in a haze of want and need, and then something is building up inside of him, wonderful and needy and tight. “You’re beautiful, Cas, you’re amazing,” he rambles,

It uncoils and he moans, panting, as he comes inside of Cas, his orgasm rolling over him and washing him in a monumental cascade of _yes_ and _finally_ and he fucks into the shock, loving the pleasure it brings him, hoping that Cas is feeling the same.

Cas sits up as he gets close and he throws his head back, moving up and down Dean’s cock fervently, letting go, so fucked and so much more loose than Dean has ever seen him before. Helping out like the good boyfriend he is, Dean grips Cas’ weeping cock, pulling him over the edge with a few pulls.

He comes over Dean’s hand, landing on his chest, and he can’t deny that it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen, _shit_ , the best fucking _sex_ he’s ever had.

“You’re so good, Cas, _fuck_.” Dean wraps him up, holding him close, despite the come between their chests and their sweaty bodies and the way his cock slips out of him, streaking Cas’ thigh.

Cas smiles against the neck, kissing his skin, breathing hard. “Fuck that was good.”

“The best.”

In the aftermath, they lie there in comfortable silence, Dean raking his fingers through Cas’ literal sex hair, grinning like an idiot.

And he really wants to say it.

I’d be so simple, so easy, so _true_ , and yet… Would it be? Or is this just some sort of post-coital thinking?

Dean can’t be sure, so he keeps his stupid mouth shut and focuses on the things he does know.

Like how he feels stunningly numb and fucked out, with Cas pressed up against him, warm and adorable and spectacular.

“Night, Cas,” he whispers, staring up at the shadows the moon’s light casts upon the ceiling.

“Goodnight, Dean,” comes the faint reply.

He falls asleep with Cas in his arms.

 

*

 

That memory is always a good one, a special one.

Cause even though that wasn’t the last time- they’ve fucked under the bleachers and on Cas’ kitchen table and in his bed multiple times and even once in a bathroom on a field trip- it’s definitely one of the more memorable ones.

Dean leans back in his blue plastic chair, the theater dark around him.

He knows it’s not just a fling. Not just some highschool relationship he’ll forget someday and look back on and think, “ _Yeah, that was fun._ ”

No, God no.

There’s no one else for him and he doesn’t give a shit whether anyone says they’re too young.

Soulmates, that’s what they are.

So suck on that haters!

“You figure it out then?” Gabriel asks, in his own chair, an amused smile on his face.

“Think I have,” Dean answers with a sure voice, grinning.

“Then I think it’s time you go back.” Gabriel stands and holds out his hand.

Staring at it, Dean wonders just how much of an angel this guy is. Cussing, enjoying human pleasures, sarcastic as hell when he’s supposed to be holy as heaven… It’s different.

He sort of likes it.

They shake hands. Gabriel winks and then everything goes dark.

*

 

“Mom, mom! He’s waking up!”

“Oh thank goodness. Honey, don’t crowd around him.”

“Dean? Deaaann, wake up.”

His eyes feel like they’ve been glued shut, but he manages to pry them open, adjusting to the bright lights and hushed silhouettes moving above him. First he sees his stupid little brother’s face, his stupid hair hanging over his eyes to where he has to buck his head back and forth to move it out of the way.

“I thought you were getting a haircut,” Dean grumbles, squinting.

“Shut up, Dean! I can’t believe I felt sorry for you!” Sam grips his hair tightly and fake cries like the wimp he is.

Dean laughs and his head hurts and he groans. “What… Where am I?”

His mom comes into his vision and her blonde curls brush against his neck. She tucks them behind her ear and caresses his face. “Oh honey, you’re in the hospital. Do you remember crashing?”

It’s vague, but he remembers headlights and being thrown back and Cas’ eyes—

“Cas!?” He blurts out, shooting up.

His mother holds him up when he goes dizzy, his head pounding. “Dean, Dean, calm down. You have a mild concussion and it’s not a good idea for you to--”

“Where is he?” Dean grips his head, but he fixes his eyes on her.

“Cas is fine, dork. He went to get us coffee,” Sam says, patting his arm.

“Who you callin’ a dork?” Dean goes to punch his brother, but his aim is off by like five feet.

“Castiel will be back any minute, honey. Why don’t you lean back? Sam, will you raise the back of the bed for me?”

Sam, the incapable moose, ends up almost breaking Dean in half and Mary shoos him off while he cackles away.

She sets Dean up against pillows and works a blanket up over the lower half of his body, constantly touching him.

“Mom, stop worrying. I’m okay. Just a little bang to the old head,” Dean jokes, half of his mouth cooperating in a grin. At that, he remembers when Death told him he was dying and he resists the growl that moves up his throat.

That silly bastard.

She rolls her eyes. “Just like you to joke about a serious situation.” Then her face converts into ‘Mother Mode’, and Dean knows he’s totally screwed. “Why were you not buckled Dean Winchester?”

The memory of licking up Cas’ neck pops up in Dean’s head, but he shrugs. “Can’t, uh, remember.”

Mary gives him a look.

“Hey! Cut me some slack, I have a concussion.” He feigns irresistible pain and she pinches his cheek with a huff before turning to the sound of the door opening.

Dean’s heart quakes at the sight of his stupidly beautiful boyfriend with his sleepy blue eyes and mussed up hair and elegant fingers wrapped around steaming cups.

Cas perks up as he sees Dean, awake, and he sets the coffee cups in his hands down quickly, hurrying over to him.

“I’ll give you boys a minute,” Mary says, smiling.

After she shuts the door, there is a moment where Cas doesn’t seem to know what to do. Dean examines him and catches the tiny cuts on the left side of Cas’ face, some covered with butterfly bandages. Cas stares down at his hands, somehow put in a different light now that Dean understands.

He sees Cas at seven years old, with his pet bee in a mason jar and a stutter, not wanting to conform to the mold his family has set around him.

He sees Cas at thirty, unhappy, married to some unfaithful jerk who won’t take care of him the way he deserves.

The way Dean can.

“I guess that “I love you” was bad timing, huh?” Cas says, breaking the silence.

Their eyes meet and Cas smiles, but there’s tension residing in it, as if he might believe his own joke.

“Nah, that’s just how we roll,” Dean counters, reaching for Cas’ hand, his own shaking. Cas’ fingers are warm from the coffee and Dean sighs at the feel of them. “And hey, that better not be a tone of regret I hear.”

“Well, it did surprise you, Dean. More than I thought it would and--”

“You better not be taking it back or else _I_ can’t say it!”

Cas looks up at him and scrubs a hand over his mouth. “Dean.”

“ _Castiel_ …” Dean holds Cas’ thin wrist in the space between his forefinger and thumb and in using all his strength, shakes it up and down. “I love you, idiot. You know it, I know it, the whole world knows it!”

It brings a blush to Cas’ cheeks and Dean considers it a win.

“I love you too, Dean Winchester.”

Dean scoots over in his bed and pats the spot next to him. “Can’t sleep alone on Christmas Eve, right?”

Smiling, Cas slides into the empty spot next to him, right where he should be, and Dean curls up against his side. “We have a lot to talk about though, Cas.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. Us, the future, the fact that your parents want to move--”

“Wait, how did you know about that?”

Dean sighs. “Just a crazy dream.”

It leaves Cas laughing, perhaps a bit nervously because Dean seems to have gone either insane or clairvoyant, but his eyes droop and he drifts off, his hand pressed against Cas’ heart.

 

ONE YEAR LATER

 

“You know, I almost believed, just for a minute, that I wouldn’t have to go through this.”

“Your luck had to run out at some point, Dean.”

“Yeah, but I mean… Don’t you think I deserve a break? I mean, college is fucking hard.”

Next to him, Cas pauses his attempt to stuff the huge gloves Mary bought him as an early Christmas present into his tiny trench coat pockets to give Dean a cold, scrutinizing look. “Are you considering dropping out?”

“Dude, come on. I can’t save the world if I don’t! And the world needs me.” Dean adjusts the casserole in his arms, staring at the door in front of him with a sour face. “Do doorbells not work anymore or did someone forget to inform me..?”

“It is a party, Dean. They probably couldn’t hear it.” Cas presses the doorbell a second time, sniffing and working both hands through his hair as if that’ll help it look like he didn’t just get fucked in the backseat of a 1967 Chevy Impala.

(Which he did, for the record.)

“Is… Is the world supposed to be spinning?” Dean asks, rolling his head around before faking a projectile vomiting worthy of an Oscar.

“I swear to the Lord in Heaven, Dean, if you do not act _normal_ while we’re in there, so help me, I will f--”

The door swings open at the perfect time and Dean pinches Cas on his perfect little ass before flashing the relative before him a shit-eating grin.

“Castiel! I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Me too, Anna,” Castiel says smoothly, smiling as if he wasn't threatening to maim Dean seconds earlier. “This is my boyfriend, Dean. Dean, this is my cousin, Anna Milton.”

“Oh, don’t be so formal, Castiel. Dean’s already an honorary Milton!” Anna swishes her long, red hair behind her before pulling Dean in for a hug so tight he might shit on her doorstep.

She hugs Cas just the same before guiding them inside and taking their coats and leading them off to where the party is bustling. So many people are packed into this place that Dean can’t take half foot strides without accidentally stepping on someone’s toes.

But unlike Cas’ shitty parents- who luckily couldn’t make it this year- everyone seems like loads of fun.

Successful business men apparently come in the forms of short guys with ugly Christmas sweater vests and tall, skinny ones with mullets. Kids gather around the gigantic tree in the corner of the room, taking guesses at what are concealed in the wrapped presents. Groups of people are scattered about, talking and laughing, sipping from mugs and slapping each other on the back.

Ugly sweater vest guy smiles huge when he catches a glimpse of Dean, who is gripping Cas’ wrist like if he lets go he’ll be swept away into the mounds of people, never to be seen again. He hurries over, holding up a beer in his right hand, but someone in the crowd takes it from his hand.

Not that he seems to notice. Or care.

“Castiel! How wonderful it is to see you!” The guy nods and shakes Cas’ hand, grinning away like a maniac. “We were all worried when you didn’t show up last year! Tragic, tragic. Some people just shouldn’t be allowed to navigate the roads in the snow.”

His eyes latch onto Dean and he gulps, smiling thinly at the inevitable onslaught that is about to rain down upon him. “And you must be the lucky fellow my nephew is courting! How is the head, dear boy, how is it!? I do pray you have kept it on straight. Or, well, maybe not str--”

“— _Yes_ , yes, this is Dean Winchester, Uncle,” Cas cuts in, arm winding around Dean’s back. He rests his palm against his hip and Dean lets out a sigh of relief.

Cas is here, and he won’t leave him to fend off the crows alone.

Despite having over a year to get past his worry, the annual family Christmas reunion held by Cas’ family still brought him undeniable stress. With college to think about and work at Bobby Singer’s garage in order to save up and buy him and Cas an apartment, Dean shouldn’t have to be worrying about this goddamn shindig, especially after his crazy experience with the angels of Christmas Screw You.

You’d think he would have gotten his shit together, but, oops, no, he didn’t.

“Well, it’s very, very nice to meet you! And I’m so glad you are both here to witness the cookie competition! Last year was a total mess, but your Aunt worked her bottom off to make it the most spectacular event of the season!” Cas’ Uncle claps his hands together, so much excitement rolling off of him that Dean shivers. “OH, I am so happy! I’ve been needing a break from the company. So much to do in so little time, as they say! Ah, well, enjoy your stay here! And don’t forget to decorate a cookie for the competition! The prizes are just spectacular!”

As the man hurries away, Dean can’t help but mumble, “How about I spectacular my foot right up your--”

“CAS!” Another relative booms, heading over to greet them.

And it goes on like that for the next hour. Some crazy relative comes bobbing up with a story to tell and a smile, telling Cas how much they missed him the year prior and how lucky Dean is and how lucky _Cas_ is to be alive, because apparently these people weren’t informed of how minor their crash really was.

But, it becomes easier as they carry on, and Cas keeps him close to his side the whole time, charming each of them with ease and Dean barely has to speak at all.

It feels good to be fawned over, and it’s honestly a polar opposite to the way Cas’ immediate family acts around him and to Cas and to everyone else.

“Mind if we take a quick break?” Dean whispers into his ear, pushing them both out of the way of a freight train barreling past with a package of unopened icing and yet another dazzling smile.

“ _Please_ ,” Cas breathes out, gripping the front of his sweater and dragging him to a corner where some kids are messing around with a hamster, giggling and swatting at the poor thing while it nibbles at their fingers.

“Mind moving this to another section of the party?” Dean asks, using his grown up voice.

“Get your own corner, old man,” a snotty-nosed kid with an inhaler wheezes up at him, glaring at him like Dean killed his pony.

Cas snorts and covers his mouth, laughing away while Dean’s mouth drops open in shock.

They end up in a less busy room in the house, where a few adults are settled on chairs with glasses in hand, discussing something to do with retail and shabby chic furniture. Dean spots an unoccupied loveseat at the end of the room, and they squish into it together and listen to the conversation at hand.

“Hey kiddo,” a familiar voice calls.

Dean whips his head to the left to spot someone he hasn’t seen in a year, mouth gaping open like a fish out of water.

“Hello Gabriel,” Cas says with a smile, holding out his hand.

With a mischievous grin, Gabriel shakes Cas’ hand before plopping down in an armchair, his gaze leaving Cas’ face and instead resting on Dean, who’s utterly speechless.

“Dean, this is my cousin Gabriel,” Cas says, hand resting on Dean’s thigh. “This is my boyfriend, Dean Winchester.”

“We’ve--”

“—Never met before! That’s right,” Gabriel cuts in, his mouth warm but his eyes indecisive, calculating, hooking on Dean’s in an authoritative manner. “We didn’t get a chance last year. Not with you getting in that little bitty crash and all.”

“Uh, yeah. R-right.” Dean swallows roughly and Cas eyes him uneasily.

“Are you okay?”

“Me? Right as rice, Cas. Just a little, um, parched. Would you mind getting me some punch? Or maybe some of that eggnog your Gram was bragging about earlier?”

Cas still looks suspicious, but he rises, fixing his sweater slowly. “Gabriel?”

“Nothing for me, Cassie,” Gabriel says, holding up a beer. “I’m all set. It’ll be a good chance to get to know your boyfriend here!”

A hand slaps him on the back and Dean winces internally.

“Okay… I shall return shortly.”

“You do that,” Gabriel calls after him.

Then he’s staring at Dean, his eyes challenging him to flip his shit.

But Dean is a big boy who can control himself, so he clears his throat and inhales slowly. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

“Hanging out with my family. What do you think?”

“I think that you’re here to mess with my fucking head,” Dean hisses sharply, gripping the couch cushion. “You’re an angel. How the hell could you be related to Cas?”

“You’d be surprised just how many angels happen to slip into a big ol’ happy family,” Gabriel states, looking off into the distance. “Don’t worry, Dean. I’m not here to screw anything up. This really is where I’m supposed to be.”

“Says who?”

“The Big Man, kid. The Head Honcho, the big Guy upstairs. I’m here for a reason and it ain’t for you. So stop boohoo-ing. You got what you wanted.”

He sips at his beer, cautiously watching Dean pry his fingers from the soft fabric, wipe his palms on his jeans.

As much as it scares him, Dean doesn’t have to worry.

He changed the future.

Cas is his, forever, and they’re happy.

“Okay,” he says, leaning back against the cushions, patting his thighs slowly.

“That’s… all?”

“You’re right, I got what I wanted. It’s still fucked up that you’re here, though, but I believe you. Cas and I are fine.”

Nodding, Gabriel grins at him again.

Cas chooses that moment to return with two glasses and soft eyes. “Hey,” he says, pushing a glass into Dean’s hand. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Glancing over at Gabriel, who raises his eyebrows mysteriously, Dean clenches and unclenches his hand before nodding.

The angel follows as Cas leads him into another room, their hands intertwined as Cas brightens up at the sight of someone parked on a piano bench, fingers dabbling across the keys. Notes, played perfectly, pour from the instrument, and the stranger seems unware of it himself, his shoulders sated and his body limp, unlike his hands which are drawn taut.

For a few minutes they all watch the man play a Christmas carol, something that sweeps from _The First Noel_ into _Silent Night._

It’s beautiful and Dean could fall asleep like this, leaning against Castiel in the soft lit room, the fireplace crackling and Gabriel sipping at his beer with a twinkle in his eyes.

The song comes to an end and Dean feels drawn to ask the stranger to continue on, but Cas pulls him forward to the man’s side.

“Dean, I would like for you to meet my Uncle, Chuck Shurley.”

Something sparks in his mind at the name, and Dean catches Gabriel’s slow, affirming nod in the corner of the room.

_Holy shit_.

The man looks up to them with the warmest smile, his face lit up in the most wonderful way. He’s clad in a simple t-shirt and jeans, but it’s his eyes that capture Dean’s attention.

They’re blue, a really awesome blue, his favorite shade of blue, and they remind him of Cas’.

“Hey,” Chuck says, hand raising in a chill wave, as if he isn’t the most powerful being in the whole fricken world. “Nice to meet you, Dean. I’ve… _heard_ so much about you.”

“Oh,” Dean squeaks out, hand cupping thin air as his mind starts to spin.

Anna pops her head into the room, eyes wide. “Hey Cas, we need you out here. Ash and Metatron are starting up an argument and we all know what that’ll end with.”

Sighing, Cas sets down his eggnog, turning to Dean. “Sorry about this,” he apologizes, squeezing Dean’s bicep. “These arguments can become extreme.”

“Tell me about it,” Gabriel grumbles, rolling his eyes.

Standing, Chuck moves from the piano bench to the mantel, picking up a crystal glass filled halfway with a gliding liquid. His eyes sparkle at Dean. “Don’t worry, Castiel. I’m sure Dean and I have lots to talk about.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, kind of a plot twist ending? I don't know, but i kinda wanted to leave some mystery in there so YOU can decide what fills in the blanks.  
> I didn't have much time to edit, so if anything is seriously messed up, lemme know! :D
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS <3


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